


Aloft

by VioletHaze



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, M/M, Praise Kink, Wing Kink, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 17:07:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9832115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletHaze/pseuds/VioletHaze
Summary: Despite his bravado walking in, he can’t quite bring himself to sit on Cas’s actual bed, but he stands near the foot of it and takes a long pull of his beer. In silent satisfaction, he watches Cas watch him lick the beer off his upper lip.From past experience, this should be when Cas strides forward and Dean pretends to let him take charge. For whatever reason, though, that’s not happening. If anything, Cas seems to have put a little extra space between them.“Dean, about today,” Cas begins and Jesus Christ when he said he wanted to talk he actually wanted to talk.Dean feels the embarrassment at being so far off base twist at his gut. The bottle he was holding loosely in his hand is now clenched in his fist as he makes for the door. “We are not doing this.”He’s stopped in his tracks when his vision goes black, disorienting him. It takes a second or two to realize it isn’t the black of darkness or unconsciousness, but a deep iridescent black of feathers and wings.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the [Fandom Trumps Hate](http://fandomtrumpshate.tumblr.com/) charity fanworks auction. It was my first time participating in something like this and I'm so happy to have been a part of such a great cause. Thank you to the lovely [Luna](https://twitter.com/cin_nic) who won my auction and donated to the Southern Poverty Law Center! I hope you like it!!

Dean throws the dirt-encrusted shovel in the trunk and slams the lid shut. His shoulders ache from the digging he was too stubborn to share, letting Sam and Cas take turns with the other shovel while he powered through. His muscles are coiled in tight knots and there’s a blister on his left palm which gives him smug satisfaction, a tiny visible sign of the punishment he deserves.

The case had been a clusterfuck from start to finish. Sure, they’d eventually vanquished the ghost, and on the books, it would be chalked up as a win, but Dean knows better. He’d rushed the case, gone in without the full research his brother had wanted to do and they’d all paid the price.

The faint wail of the ambulance they’d called for the cemetery caretaker is already creeping in making Dean even antsier to get the hell out of town but Sam and Cas are still standing there near the back of the car, looking at him with a mix of pity and disappointment that he really doesn’t fucking need right now.

“What?” he demands.

It’s Cas who answers. “We need to put the other shovel away.” He gestures to Sam who is clearly holding it in his hand.

Jesus, with attention to detail like that, it’s amazing he didn’t get every last one of them killed. He unlocks the trunk again and Sam replaces the shovel carefully, closing the trunk with barely a sound. Dean feels his blood boil at this wordless rebuke.

“Want me to drive?” Sam offers.

Despite the ache in his back and the bone-deep exhaustion, Dean merely gives his brother a withering look and stomps to the driver’s side door.

Dean ignores the look that passes between Cas and Sam. He knows he’s being an asshole, taking his own failure out on them but he can’t find it in him to care. The anger and frustration are burning white-hot inside him, threatening to burst him apart. What he really needs is a bottle of whiskey, the glass solid in his hand as the liquid burns a path of destruction into his gut, but they’ve still got a couple of hours of driving ahead of them.

In the car, he turns up the music loud enough to drown out Sam’s next attempt at conversation.

With the Impala headed north, he tries to let the driving soothe him, but he can’t help replaying where things went wrong. A series of images flash through his mind: the caretaker lying bloodied and unconscious on the ground, Cas knocked down hard when the spirit swept his feet out from under him, Sam pinned against the stone wall of a mausoleum struggling to breathe.

He doesn’t even realize he’s grinding his teeth in frustration until Sam reaches a hand to his shoulder. It’s a gentle touch but enough to startle him and he jerks away from it, swerving the car a little.

Sam sighs and holds his hands up in surrender before turning pointedly away to stare out the passenger window. Dean doesn’t have to look to know that Cas is watching him with that vaguely disappointed frown.

Dean tightens his grip on the steering wheel, letting it dig into the blister on his palm. Maybe what he needs is some time hunting by himself. Just him and his Baby making their way wherever the road leads. He’ll switch off the GPS on his phone and work cases on his own so nobody else gets hurt. He’ll get them all back to the bunker, grab a few hours of shut-eye and then be on the road in the morning before anybody is up and asking questions.

With his plan in place, he realizes he’s actually sort of hungry. “You guys want to stop for food?”

With a disbelieving look, Sam gestures to the ectoplasm and grave dust matted in his hair. “Really, Dean?”

Despite Sam’s dismissal of the question, Dean meets Cas’s eyes in the rearview mirror, but he gives a small shake of his head.

Yeah, ok. It’s definitely time for Dean Winchester, Party of One.

They drive the rest of the way to Lebanon in silence.

Back at the bunker, Sam storms off to shower without a word to any of them. Dean washes up and changes into clean clothes then heads to the kitchen for a much-needed drink.

Before he can even get the refrigerator open, Cas appears in the doorway. “Could I have a word with you?”

With his back to Cas, Dean rolls his eyes, then turns to face him with the least sincere polite look he can manage. “What can I do for you, Cas?” he practically chirps.

Cas gives him a long, scrutinizing look before responding. “Could we speak in my room?”

Dean’s stomach flips a little and he gives Cas a slow, lazy smirk. “Yeah, sure. You want a beer?”

“No, thank you.” Cas leaves the kitchen and Dean grabs a beer for himself.

They’ve done this a couple of times now. Ok, twice, to be exact. Dean’s not sure how it happened but one minute they were finishing off a skinwalker and the next Cas had him up against the wall of the warehouse. Dean’s not sure any of his brain cells were working in tandem at that moment but they’d gotten each other off in a flurry of desperate hands and hot, wet mouths. Afterwards, Cas had told him never to put himself in such a dangerous position again. Still panting, all Dean could think to do was nod his promise. The next time had likewise been after a case, nothing too terribly fraught, but they’d ended up in the backseat of the Impala. It was just a way to blow off steam, Dean knew. Nothing more than a release of tension, a tangle of limbs and half-removed clothing in the heat of the moment. That’s all it could possibly be, he told himself, pretending not to see the way Cas’s face fell when Dean got himself dressed and left him there in the car.

Following Cas down the hall, Dean admits that it’s a little weird to think about doing it here, where they both live, and with Sam just a few doors away. But it’s been a shitty day and Dean isn’t going to say no to a little stress relief. Friends with benefits is totally a thing. And why question it when said friend is six feet of hot angel?

Cas is waiting in the doorway of his room and Dean winks at him as he passes. He hasn’t been in Cas’s room in a while and now he notices the little changes Cas had made to make it his. There’s a stack of books on the bedside table and a t-shirt Dean had thought he’d left in a motel room draped over the back of the chair. A picture of the three of them is propped up against the lamp on the desk. He recognizes it as one Mary took; he’s got the same one saved on his phone.

Despite his bravado walking in, he can’t quite bring himself to sit on Cas’s actual bed, but he stands near the foot of it and takes a long pull of his beer. In silent satisfaction, he watches Cas watch him lick the beer off his upper lip.

From past experience, this should be when Cas strides forward and Dean pretends to let him take charge. For whatever reason, though, that’s not happening. If anything, Cas seems to have put a little extra space between them.

“Dean, about today,” Cas begins and Jesus Christ when he said he wanted to talk he actually wanted _to talk_.

Dean feels the embarrassment at being so far off base twist at his gut. The bottle he was holding loosely in his hand is now clenched in his fist as he makes for the door. “We are not doing this.”

He’s stopped in his tracks when his vision goes black, disorienting him. It takes a second or two to realize it isn’t the black of darkness or unconsciousness, but a deep iridescent black of feathers and wings.

Cas stands near the door, his wings fully extended, blocking Dean’s path. His face is unreadable and Dean stops, unsure if he wants to push the issue. What will happen if he keeps going? Will Cas move to let him leave? Can Cas, like, smack him down with that wing or can Dean just push past it? Would he even let Dean touch it? Dean finds himself distracted by what it would feel like to run his fingers through those feathers, and the hand not holding the bottle twitches in that direction.

Perhaps Cas notices because he chooses right then to clear his throat to get Dean’s attention. Staring at the wings displayed before him, Dean almost forgot he was supposed to be mad, but now, looking at Cas’s cool blue eyes, it comes back to him.

With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, he gestures at the door. “You’re a peacock now. Very impressive. Can I go?”

“I’d like for you to hear me out first.”

Dean has no idea why Cas thinks he can just lay down the law like he has the utmost confidence that Dean is going to obey. Dean doesn’t have to stand here and take this, he doesn’t need Cas lecturing him on his many shortcomings. Guess what, he could list them all out in alphabetical order starting with A for Asshole. It’s been a hell of a day already and he is so not in the mood for this. He opens his mouth to tell Cas exactly that, but finds Cas giving him that serious, one-eyebrow raised look that somehow always crumples Dean’s resolve.

But Dean’s still too pissy and disappointed in himself to let it go completely. Instead he raises an eyebrow and gestures to the blocked door. “Do I get a choice in the matter?”

Cas looks at him guiltily. “Of course you do.” With a slight whoosh the wings disappear, and well, Dean brought that one on himself.

Dean runs a hand through his hair. He doesn’t want to talk, but he wants to leave even less. He waves an impatient hand. “Whatever.”

“Sit,” Cas says and Dean sits on the edge of the bed like it was a command. He doesn’t stop to think about the wave of relief that washes over him at Cas making the decision for him. It’s not like he wants to fight with Cas but he’s too tired to put up a defense. Nonetheless, he tries to look as put out by the request as he can.

Cas has finally moved closer to him and Dean feels his shoulders slump a little in defeat. “I know what you’re going to say.”

“I don’t think you do.” Cas has the full-on squint going and Dean refuses to think of it as endearing. “Maybe if you would stop perpetually punishing yourself, you’d realize that without you there today, that caretaker would be dead.”

“Yeah, those injuries are a great consolation prize,” Dean says bitterly.

“It’s impossible to do what you do and keep everyone from harm,” Cas says, sitting on the bed next to him. Dean can feel the warmth of his nearness but he keeps his eyes down, fidgeting with the label on the beer bottle.

Dean wants to believe him, he really does. But he can still hear the snap of the caretaker’s bones. It goes great with the hoarse sound of Sam calling his name, and the surprised cry from Cas when he was tossed across the room like a rag doll. He’s supposed to have their backs. That’s his job and he needs to do better. He has to do better.

He doesn’t realize he’s said that out loud until he hears Cas asking, “Better than who?”

“Just…better.” Dean gets to his feet. He finishes off the rest of the beer in one long swallow and sets the bottle down hard on the dresser. Maybe he can try to explain. “I know every hunt isn’t gonna go perfect, but if I let myself off the hook because only one person got injured then what’s to say that next time I won’t be shrugging and patting myself on the back because only one person got killed?” He chances a look at Cas, who is staring at him like his every halting word matters. Dean manages to meet Cas’s eyes briefly before flickering his gaze back to the floor. “I can’t get complacent. I can’t let myself.”

“Ah, I see.” Cas says with such clarity that Dean looks to see what’s brought this on. His face has softened into a small, knowing smile. Cas tips his head toward the bed in invitation and, dragging his feet ever so slightly, Dean sits again. Cas turns toward him, sitting close enough that their knees brush. “That isn’t you anymore.”

“Of course it is. If I was like that before….” Dean can’t bring himself to say _Hell_. The shame and pain of his memories there keep the word locked down but the thought of becoming a monster again terrifies him. If he starts to look at people in terms of acceptable losses, he’s got one foot down that path and he knows it. “You of all people should know that. You saw me there. You saw what I can become.”

Cas lets out a small breath of…frustration, maybe? Irritation? Dean isn’t sure. “You can’t compare yourself now with the decisions you made under years of torment in Hell.” His tone turns gentle. “There’s room to forgive yourself.”

Dean feels his eyes begin to prickle and he squeezes them shut to head it off. “How can I? I’m still the same person.”

“Yes, exactly.” Dean opens his eyes again, mired in uncertainty. Maybe Cas knows that this is the best he can do. Maybe that’s why he tries to save him from putting pressure on himself. In fact, maybe this is the reason Cas is even still here. Maybe he only stays because Dean needs to be watched, needs to be kept on a short leash for everyone’s safety. This confusion must show on his face because Cas reaches out to draw a thumb across the crease between Dean’s eyes, nearly stunning him with the casual ease of his touch. “Your soul is still as clear and bright as it ever was.”

Dean feels himself blushing then and tries to duck his head, but Cas is having none of it. He presses his hand against Dean’s rapidly reddening cheek and gazes into his eyes with such intensity that Dean forgets how to breathe.

“I was drawn to you then as I’m drawn to you now. I’d never before been witness to anything like you and I think it caught me off guard to think I’d discovered something new. It’s not that I was…dissatisfied with my life, but until I found you there, radiating such pure intent in the midst of so much evil, I hadn’t been truly surprised by anything in so long that I couldn’t identify what was happening to me.” Brushing his thumb over Dean’s cheekbone, he continues. “You were my mission and I was charged with finding you but once the mission was completed, I was reluctant to let you go, both literally and figuratively.” With those words, he drops his hand to Dean’s shoulder, fitting it perfectly to the handprint he’d left on him.

Without meaning to, Dean leans toward him, still processing his words as he chases the warmth of his touch. He blinks his eyes in surprise when Cas reaches instead for his hand.

This is not how it goes. They fumble together, unspeaking, in the dark. That’s what Dean knows how to do, not…whatever this is. He shakes his head and tries to pull his hand away, desperate to deflect, but it appears Cas is only getting started.

“No,” he says firmly, lifting their interlaced fingers to kiss Dean’s knuckle. “These are things you need to hear. How valued you are. How important.”

“Yeah, ok,” Dean says, feeling the heat rush to his face again as his heart beats double-time. “I get it. Point made.”

“I don’t think you do ‘get it.’” Dean can practically hear the air quotes but there’s no time to dwell on that because Cas is pushing the overshirt from his shoulders and ok, getting naked is a lot more of what Dean was here for originally. There’s no need to ever admit to anyone that he hates letting go of Cas’s hand for the time it takes to get his shirt all the way off. Luckily, Cas smoothly finds it again. “You’re so busy beating yourself up that you have no idea how in awe I am of you every single day.”

Cas tugs on the hem of Dean’s t-shirt with his free hand and Dean pulls it over his head. He reaches for Cas again, but he shakes his head. “Jeans, too.”

Dean tries to smirk but it comes out as a dopey smile and he hurries to comply. He breathes a little easier when Cas stands to peels off his suit coat because apparently he survived the chick flick moment and now they can resume their regularly scheduled naked programming. But Cas stops him from getting all the way undressed and nods at the bed once his jeans are off. When Cas has also stripped down to his boxers, he joins Dean on the bed, rolling him onto his side so that he can curl up behind him and take him in his arms.

“The rest of my garrison couldn’t understand why I was unable to move on from this mission,” he continues, like he’s telling Dean a bedtime story. “They scorned me for what they considered my weakness, my fallibility. But they were the ones to be pitied. They had no idea what they were missing. Convinced they possessed infinite knowledge, they never imagined there was more to know and learn.”

Cas sounds matter of fact about it, but Dean knows how much it cost him. It’s easier to say this with his back to Cas, where he doesn’t have to see the pain of loss in the angel’s eyes. He covers Cas’s hand with his own. “Cas, I’m sorry for what happened to those other angels. The ones who died trying to save me and…the rest of your family in heaven. I know we must be poor substitutes.”

Cas squeezes his hand. “There are things I miss, of course, but nothing that even comes close to leaving me with regret for being here with you.”

Dean squirms a little at that. Cas keeps saying he prefers his life here on Earth, but Dean can’t quite believe him. Not when he considers all the things he used to be able to do before he got tangled up with Dean. “You gave up so much, though,” he points out thinking of the armies Cas used to lead, of the way he could zap anywhere in the universe seamlessly.

As if he can read his mind, Cas responds, “There are other uses for wings, you know.” Now, along with the warmth of Cas’s arms, Dean finds himself wrapped in wings as well.

With his free hand, Dean reaches out tentatively, holding his breath until his fingertips just graze the feathers closest to him. There’s a silkiness to them he didn’t expect, a softness that belies the solid form revealed to his vision. He ventures a bit more boldly, carding his fingers through the feathers. He feels Cas shudder behind him, stubble brushing against his shoulder as he leaves a line of kisses there.

It’s warm in this angel-cocoon, warm and safe and quiet with just the sound of their matched breathing and the softest whisper of fingers through feathers. Dean feels himself relaxing, molding himself into Cas’s embrace, smiling when Cas pulls him closer. It’s more than warmth and comfort, Dean realizes, he feels safe. For once, he’s letting someone else do the work and when he feels his own exhaustion creeping up on him, he lets himself relinquish that control. The feeling of well-being flows through him, making his sore muscles loose and his limbs heavy. He feels a slight tingling in his fingers and toes and it’s a strange enough sensation that it rouses him a little.

“Dude. Are you giving me a grace-massage?”

Cas stops where he’s nibbling at the juncture of Dean’s shoulder and neck and that’s as good as a confession. “I may be aiding your relaxation a little. But I should have asked your permission first.”

Ok, now he’s wide awake again, brain whirring with possibilities and his entire body thrumming even though Cas has pulled his grace away. “Nah, it’s good. Can you uh—“ he pushes back a little against the outline of Cas’s erection, “use it for other stuff, too?”

He’s rewarded by Cas licking behind his ear. “I certainly can.”

Dean lets his head fall back against Cas’s shoulder and Cas glides his hand along his chest. His wings move inward, too, and Dean’s treated to the strange but pleasurable sensation of feathers caressing his skin. It’s only when Cas slips his hand lower that Dean realizes he’s using his wings on purpose, teasing at Dean’s sensitive nipples with a touch that’s barely there yet inescapable all at once. When Dean shivers at the touch, Cas pulls him closer and kisses along his neck and the underside of his jaw. The rasp of his stubble paired with the whisper-soft feel of feathers have things short circuiting in Dean’s brain. When Cas pinches a nipple between his fingers, Dean honest-to-God whimpers and it’s all he can do not to grab the angel’s hand and shove it in the front of his boxers.

Instead, he twists his head around, searching for Cas’s lips, hoping that having his mouth occupied will prevent him from further embarrassing sounds. All Cas gives him, though, is a brush of lips that leaves Dean’s mouth tingling. Cas starts to pull away again, intent on covering every inch of Dean’s neck with hot, wet kisses, but Dean’s having none of it. In the tight circle of Cas’s arms and wings, he rolls over until he’s facing Cas, taking his face in his hands and kissing him with an intensity he hopes makes up for the things he can’t put into words. If Cas is taken aback by this, he doesn’t let it show, carding his fingers through Dean’s hair and thrusting lazily against him. Emboldened, Dean rolls him onto his back and then stops, because what the fuck is he thinking. He shifts his weight onto his hands and looks down at Cas in concern. “Does that hurt your wings?”

Cas smiles up at him. “Not in the least.”

“You’re sure?”

Cas answers by pulling Dean back down on top of him and wrapping his wings and arms around him again. Dean revels in the embrace, and he rests his forehead against Cas’s, gasping softly when Cas rolls his hips up, sparking a wave of arousal through him. They kiss for a long time, pressed against each other and, even keeping their hands above the waist, it’s more satisfying than Dean could have imagined.

He hadn’t known it could be like this, not with Cas. Those frenzied moments they’d had in the warehouse and the car were fast and furious. They tore at each other’s clothes with touches that felt weaponized even as they brought each other to completion. In those bewildering moments, it seemed Cas couldn’t wait to be done with him, ashamed even to be touching Dean in this way. It left Dean dazed each time, struggling both for breath and understanding. It’s why Dean had climbed out of the Impala first, leaving Cas in disarray in the backseat. He hadn’t wanted to, but he’d convinced himself he was doing Cas a favor, that lingering would only add to his regret.

But this. This is completely different. There’s a sweetness in Cas’s touch, a tenderness in his every action that’s almost astounding to Dean. He’s been a jerk all evening long, pushing Cas away at every turn, and Cas’s response is to literally praise him above heaven while touching him with reverent hands. After all that, Dean’s finding it increasingly difficult to tell himself he doesn’t deserve this. That voice is still there, trying to push its way to the surface to laugh at Dean and drag him back under, but with every look into Cas’s blue eyes, and every brush of his lips on Dean’s skin, it’s becoming easier for Dean to slam the door on those thoughts.

Just when he’s thinking they should keep making out like this all night, Cas pulls away. Dean goes for his mouth again, but Cas stops him with a finger to his lips. “I believe you had a request.”

Dean sucks Cas’s finger into his mouth, watching as Cas’s eyes widen. “Did I?”

In one quick motion, Dean is on his back and holy shit that’s an impressive sight. Cas is all lean muscle and smooth skin and wings. No way will Dean ever get used to that. He reaches up, determined to get his hands back in those feathers and when he does Cas lets out a something between a purr and a rumble from deep in his chest. As Dean works his hands through Cas’s wings, combing through and smoothing them, Cas flicks his tongue over Dean’s nipple, before sucking it into his mouth. When Dean moans and twists his fingers tightly into Cas’s wings, Cas shudders and Dean feels a sticky wetness pulse onto his fingers.

“Do that again,” Cas says, his voice nearly a growl. Dean does and he feels more of it coat his hands. It’s waxy and sticky and Dean’s not quite sure what it means, but Cas is grinding down against him with renewed purpose so he figures it’s not hurting him.

Then Cas pulls back to kneel on the bed, straddling Dean as he does so. Reluctantly Dean lets go of the wings and tries to catch his breath, holding his sticky fingers in front of him. Cas cups his hands between his own and Dean feels a tingling warmth. He figures Cas is using his grace to clean them off, but instead he’s warmed them. He realizes his hands are now coated in warm, slick oil at the same time he discovers Cas has apparently mojo’d off both of their underwear.

“Wing oil has many uses,” Cas says, and brings Dean’s hands between his legs.

Dean wraps his hands around Cas’s cock, spreading the oil as he strokes him. Cas lets his eyes fall closed and Dean experiments a little, using one hand to thumb at the head while the other strokes the length. He watches Cas’s face, learning what he likes, filing it away for future reference because he gets now that this is something he can savor and enjoy. He’s watching his face so intently as he touches him that he’s struck once again by the blue of his eyes when Cas opens them. Without a word, Cas climbs off him and nudges at his hip until Dean’s lying on his right side. Cas slots in behind him, just as they were when they first got into the bed, close enough that Dean can feel Cas’s heart beating against him. There’s another zing of grace and then Cas is spreading him open and entering him in one smooth motion. Dean feels every hot inch of him slide inside and he bites back a moan at how good and full he feels.

Instead of moving, Cas holds him tightly. Every part of them is flush, from where Cas buries his face in the back of Dean’s neck all the way down to where their feet tangle together. After what feels like forever, Cas noses against Dean’s sweat-damp hair and begins to makes tiny motions with his hips.

“You are the most remarkable human I’ve ever encountered,” Cas murmurs in his ear.

This is definitely not the kind of talk Dean’s used to in bed and he feels a swoop in his chest as the blush heats his skin. His only consolation is that Cas can’t see his face.

“Cas, c’mon,” Dean breathes.

With that, Cas starts to move, punctuating his words with deep, slow thrusts. “You have no idea what you mean to me or how grateful I am for every moment I spend at your side.”

It’s too much. Cas’s words are gentle and heartfelt and Dean doesn’t know what to do with them. He’s taking such care with Dean, sinking into him not like it’s a means to an end but like he’s trying to get as close to him as he possibly can. He wants to tell Cas to stop talking, but he can’t find any words of his own so he scrambles a hand forward and grabs the wing closest to him, hiding his face in the feathers as Cas picks up the pace.

“You feel so good, Dean, so perfect.” Dean’s cock beads with pre-come just from Cas’s words and, although his ability to form coherent thoughts is rapidly fading, he wonders if Cas could get him off with his voice alone.

His hand still slick with oil, Dean’s reaches for his own achingly hard cock. Cas reaches down too and laces their fingers together, guiding Dean’s hand in time with his thrusts. Dean moans as Cas’s words are replaced with breathy grunts and just as Dean’s wishing he had a better angle to brace himself and rock back, Cas rolls him onto his stomach. He feels his thighs being pushed up and out before Cas kneels between them and buries himself in Dean’s ass again. Dean grasps at the covers, groaning into the pillow as Cas puts on hand on the back of his neck to hold him in place. Writhing against the mattress, Dean works to get some friction on his cock as Cas slams into him again and again. Over the sound of his own moans, he can hear the slapping of skin on skin, and a rustling. He pictures Cas above him, skin glistening with sweat and his wings fully unfurled and that’s what does it. He cries out as he comes in wracking waves even as Cas continues to chase his own release. It’s only a few moments later when Cas wraps both arms around him, gritting out Dean’s name as his hips stutter and he spills deep inside him.

Cas stays draped over him, breathing heavily and planting kisses between his shoulders. Drowsy and satisfied, Dean closes his eyes and considers drifting off with this angel blanket on top of him. Eventually, though, Cas moves off him and Dean shivers a little as the cool air hits his sweaty skin. In an instant, Cas has cleaned them up and when Dean rolls over, the sheets are fresh and dry. Wings hidden away again, Cas is propped up on one elbow, gazing down at Dean. There’s a look of uncertainty in his eyes that Dean kisses away.

Dean stretches luxuriously as Cas watches, then Dean arranges the covers over them both. “You don’t expect me to walk all the way back to my room, do you?”

Cas pulls him close. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my Gishwhes team chat who helped me brainstorm a title. I'm sorry I wasn't able to go with either Wingus He Dingus or P(r)een.


End file.
